On my second week of teacher’s meetings at my new school, I went to the bathroom in the high school girl’s restroom.  There was quite a bit of “stall art” in the bathroom stall I chose.  One statement caught my attention like a slap in the face, “I hate this place SOOO much!”   It stopped me short.  My first feeling was confusion.  I didn’t connect with this statement because I was a student for a short time at this school and had a really positive experience.  I had the normal teenage angst mixed in with a need for affirmation and a good dose of homesickness…but, I felt like it was a great place with lots of good people.  I also have really enjoyed my journey to be a part of this community now.  I see people who really have a heart for students and the ministry that God has called them to.  I know that deep in their hearts they care—and they love the Lord.

So, although I initially felt confusion, I secondly felt curiosity.   What had made that precious image-bearer student write those words?  What had torn her heart and given her hatred for this place?  What had she experienced?   I am thankful I read those words because it reminded me of several things:

1) No place is perfect: as much as this place meets the needs of so many and is a welcoming place, I’ve also seen some students not treating each other very well. I’ve tried to speak into that as I can, and I know as a teacher and adult that I need to keep my eyes and ears open.  We are the walking wounded and we hurt each other–sometimes unintentionally and sometimes intentionally.   I’ve already seen some of the tears and heard of some of the hurts.   I also have read the ugly and difficult story of a dear friend who experienced great pain in her time here.  This is not the only place this happens.  Face it, we live in a flawed and sinful world.   I even had a former student across the ocean share about how she has been treated recently.  It is happening everywhere and it is heart-breaking.  We need to be in the business of looking for the good in others and affirming them always.   We need to need to guard our tongues, our hearts and our minds.  I want to model that and bring life and truth to my students.

2) Teachers are not perfect: I am certain that those who I work with have a heart for ministry and for following God.  We make mistakes though–we are human.  My own kids have shared some statements they have heard which weren’t very affirming.  I’m not pointing any fingers though…this brings to my mind plenty of times I didn’t say all I should or times I have said too much.  It also brought to mind the mistakes I made as a young dorm mother at yet another place—when I was too legalistic and self-absorbed to quite “get” what some of my girls were struggling with.  Some I have been able to apologize to, but some I have not.  It breaks my heart to pieces to know that I am probably to blame for them wanting nothing to do with God.  I can only beg God to forgive me, ask Him to draw them to Himself IN SPITE of me, and concentrate on truly loving those I have the honor to teach and interact with now.   I know I won’t always get it “right” but I definitely have the desire in my heart to do so.

I feel so strongly that we need to live our lives with our eyes and hearts open.  We need to not be calloused, too busy or too unconcerned.   This doesn’t only apply to teachers, but I think it is especially important for those who teach.   I do believe that we do make a difference—either positively or negatively—and we need to be aware of the power we have to impact hearts and minds.  I want my students to know that I care about what they learn but mostly care about WHO THEY ARE.  I want them to know they are how valuable and amazing they are.   I want them to learn how powerful their words and actions are to others and how they can make a positive difference in the world as they focus on gratitude, compassion and affirmation.  For my fellow teachers, I will be praying for you as you take on this incredibly challenging job and I ask that you do the same for me.

I am not a believer in coincidence. I know that there are things in life that can be explained away or just be considered “lucky”. I guess, as I have walked with God, I believe that He cares about me. As I have seen things come together for us over the last few months, I don’t view things as just coincidental. I believe He really sees me and has my best interest at heart—throughout the good times and the bad.

Today was our first Sunday living in Penang. We went down the road to the Baptist church to visit. It was a nice visit but we know we want to visit some other congregations too. After the message there was a church business meeting. We stepped out to leave since we don’t know much about the decisions the church has to make. When we got to the parking lot, we realized we were stuck.   Several cars had blocked us in (which means there were people who arrived later than we did!).   However, we were not “stuck” alone. Another couple came out and they were stuck too. This was their first visit to the church and we struck up a conversation and talked for 30-45 minutes.   They are from South Africa and are older than us (have grown children and grand-children), but after talking and getting to know one another, we left with the intention to get together soon and explore some more of Penang. An inconvenience became a new friendship. I left feeling like, “Hey…thanks God!” I don’t believe in coincidence…

In 2009 there was a family who studied Indonesian in Salatiga. We struck up a friendship and really enjoyed their company (even though we could not get together very often). Due to some medical issues, they have to be in Penang this year.   When they found out they had to come here, they were trying to find an apartment. There was an option but it wasn’t great.  Basically through several people they found out about an open apartment in this complex. For the year, they are living in the building right next door! What a special gift… When I heard about all the various people involved to get them here, I knew WHO put that together. Again, I don’t believe in coincidence….

Our journey here last week was full of those “God sees me” moments too. With 12 pieces of luggage, 5 carry-ons, and 5 people, we just feel stressed when we head out for the airport to cross the world. There is not much we can do about that fact. The process of checking-in looms as the first arduous step. When we reached the curb in Seattle, there was a big cart right there. There was a rope/key holding it to a post, but it was not locked. We were able to put all of our baggage on it and then, we met Malone. He was working check-in at the curb. He took and labeled all of our baggage and got it sent through and gave us our passes to go through security. He was so kind and helpful and I just wanted to give him a huge hug. My heart had just been crushed by two terrible good-byes, and experiencing kindness was such a gift.   I don’t believe in coincidence….

We had flown Southwest a lot this summer and you can only check in 24 hours in advance and get your boarding pass. On this Delta flight, I knew that we could check in 24 hours in advance. I did NOT know that we had to get on BEFORE 24 hours to get our seats. I couldn’t get any seats and according to the seat maps, all I could select was the middle seat in every row.   We didn’t take this news well—that we had to go to the counter to get our boarding passes. Our last Delta experience did not go well and we did not want to re-live trying to get other passengers to move to let us sit with our kids.   We were frustrated the night before we left with that news.  But… are we stupid or something???   We don’t need to worry about anything! When we got to the counter, they had seats ready for us. They had boarding passes printed for us for two flights (all the way to Singapore). We were all seated together and we were in the middle of the plane (not in the back!).   On the plane we found that on both flights, there was an empty seat in our section of three seats. And, we had an electrical outlet. I had received a translation assignment the last week in the States and was very concerned about finishing it by the deadline. I had power on the plane and was able to work on the document for hours!    Again, I don’t believe in coincidence….

Since we have moved in, we’ve had a little cat hair problem. I’m allergic to it, and there was way too much hair left in the apartment. It will take weeks to clean it all out for sure. Although there are some issues, there are some great things here. I already mentioned my friends living in the other building…and after Semarang, the kitchen I have is HUGE.   My Mom (and her landlady) VERY KINDLY let us stay with her for a couple of weeks in Seattle, but she has a one bedroom/one bathroom basement apartment. It was a little challenging for all 6 of us to manage—and I knew that Ryan was looking forward to his own room and bathroom. When we got here we found not only three bedrooms, but ALSO three bathrooms. That is an amazing gift. I also never get tired of looking out the window and seeing the ocean. Sometimes it still shocks me—I can’t believe it. We’ve been able to make it without air conditioner and hope that we can continue that to save expense. The breeze from the ocean has been refreshing.   Again, I don’t believe in coincidence…

I know that God knows me…He sees me and He knows what lies ahead.   We all growing on this journey and are learning a lot about ourselves and each other. Mom had all the letters I wrote from boarding school and I brought them with me. Maybe, one day soon, I will sit on campus where I wrote them and read again about what life was like for me as a junior high student. I will contemplate what happened to me then and think about where He has brought me now. It’s kind of surreal to be in the same place and have so much still look similar, so many long years later. I am excited to be a part of a community that I adored as a student. I look forward to giving of myself to the students in the way those teachers gave of themselves to me.   I am excited for my kids to experience this community.

God sees me, and I know He sees you too. What is He doing in your life?

Romans 8:28 And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.

 

Excuse me, while I share some thoughts while I am still thinking them through.  I know that God created and formed me and gave me a certain place to be from and a family to belong to.   That is what He gave me and I have to manage my life within those parameters.  I do find myself very thankful for the opportunities I have had.  However, after having experiencing the wider world, I can’t tell you that I don’t have some guilt too.

The first time I most poignantly remember feeling that was when our friend Pak Man was dying.  He had a heart valve problem and slowly, over several weeks, his heart overworked until he died.  As I watched him in his bed, struggling for breath, I thought, “Why? Why can’t he have the same access to a doctor who could manage this issue and help him?”  And I struggled with the realization that I was in a position to do that personally, but because of who he was, where he was born, and what resources he had/didn’t have, that he had to face that end for his life.   So, I have to think long and hard about what that means…that he was born in this place, with this background, and those were the last days that he had on this earth….which was truly already known by HIM.

Now we’re in another spot, and it is a terrible spot.  Our friend had his tonsils removed last week.  He was an otherwise healthy man who is younger than us.  He is married and has a young son.   He is currently fighting for his life as he has been haemorrhaging post-surgery.  The situation is not good.  Bleeding post-op is the most frequent complication from having tonsils removed, but it is highly likely that this complication is more frequent here than in a developed country.  Apparently there were trying to do a cauterization to stop the bleeding, but it is in a tough place to cauterize.  He has fluid in his lungs, which is probably blood, but was diagnosed as “brachio-pneumonia”.  Again, we question “why” and feel some sense of guilt as we know that in a developed country such as one we come from, these out-patient procedures don’t often put your LIFE on the line.   We know health-care in the developed world isn’t perfect, BUT, is it also leaps about bounds above this place.

So that is the clincher.  Who am I?  Why am I “privileged” in so many senses of the word?  Not all that I have to deal with is easy by any stretch of the imagination.  There is suffering that my family and I must carry that is painful, but I see some benefits I have because of the development and economy of my nation.  How do I live with that, when all I want to do is fume, scream at the doctors and medical institutions, and throw heavy objects at their heads?  (My honesty speaking….)   How does my heart find peace?  I truly know that HE is the only one who can give it to me, because I can’t understand it myself.

What can I DO?   One of the strong emotions that we are dealing with is helplessness.  The surgery for our friend has been done.  It’s over and there is no way to “take it back”.   I don’t have medical training and I can’t do anything to help in that way.   I have only two things that I can do–I can GIVE to try to help those in need and who need more/better care although I’m not educated enough to provide it myself.  I can encourage others to give too.  I can also PRAY.  At this point in our friend’s life, he is totally and completely in God’s hands.  Only God can step in today and stop the bleeding…and bring healing…and restore him to his family.  I hope and pray that He will.  God, please have mercy.

I wish that I could somehow paint a picture of the sneaky sadness that sometimes comes pouring into our lives—around unexpected corners.  I can’t say that its arrival is surprising, but something about it still stops you short, catches your breath, and makes your heart ache painfully.

When the big kids got their chance to say goodbye to this place and experience, they were pretty joyful.  They felt excited about their adventure to come and the news things they would experience.  We encouraged them to say goodbye well and to say it to those most important to them.  They did, but their anticipation greatly outweighed any sense of sadness felt by any of us.

Then they left.  Their absence left a huge hole in the house and it was instantly and poignantly felt by the youngest.  His world changed that day and he misses them so much.  Most of the time he bee-bops around as usual, but then there are moments when I am stopped short as he gets quiet, contemplative, and tears fill his eyes.  I ask, “What’s wrong?”  And he tells me how much he misses his brothers…especially the middle one.

Today some of my students cried at school.  I can’t really explain easily how it all started, but basically, when one boy started crying as he apologized to me, he started some creepy chain reaction.  It hit many of them that this was their final week with me as their teacher in their regular classes and the tears started.  My little boy saw that and was wondering—Why are they crying??   Then, I watched him—he’s been spending ALOT of time with us and with the other teachers over the last two weeks and has two more weeks of that.  Saying goodbye to people who are loving on him so much is not going to be easy for them, for him, or for us.  I already see that sneaky sadness coming a mile away.

There are many things we are looking forward to as our next chapter opens.   There are many things we want to leave behind here.  For those reasons, we are counting the days.  But, as much as we seek this end, it won’t be easy.  We know that deep sadness lies around the corner.    I know it’s good.  I know it means we love well and intensely and are loved in return—but it doesn’t really offer any type of salve.  For after all, “Life is pain your majesty and anyone who says otherwise is selling something.”

I think when you face a situation like this, where someone you love isn’t doing too well, you start to think about who they are and what they mean to you. You think about how long they have been a part of your life and how they have blessed your life.   Grandpa Marvin and I are almost exactly 50 years apart in age. For the past 40 years, he has been a part of my life….and for that long time, I am very grateful.

I know, from pictures, that he met me not long after I was born and I know he spent some time with us on some visits to Bangkok at the end of the 1970s.   I remember taking a trip to Chiang Mai with Grandpa, Grandma and Mark.   Some of my more vivid memories are when we spent time with Grandpa and Grandma in Crow Agency, Montana. I remember the feel and the look of Grandpa’s study in that old house. It had a lot of dark wood and it seemed like a solemn quiet place. I remember bits and pieces of our time there (you know, sometimes memories fade with age!) like Grandma baking her incredible pies, mowing in the large field out back, and maybe even a trip to get some venison. I also remember that going down to Mark’s room in the basement was kind of scary because it involved some kind of trap door. I also remember the vents in the floor and I how I liked to look down when I was supposed to be going to sleep at night and peek in on the family.

I also remember visits to Decatur with the family and also time spent in Findlay, Ohio, visiting Grandpa and Grandma. I also remember them coming to Anderson to see us and spend time with us there. And then, visits in Seattle. Grandpa enjoyed eating at Thai restaurants. He was so gracious to let us rest at his apartment and store our trunks there as we traveled in/out of the city. He also always had Cherry 7-Up in his refrigerator. I won’t see a bottle of that without thinking of him.

So, I think back to all of these memories of times spent together and then I think about what he has meant to me and what I have learned from him.

First he tells a lot of jokes. We always give Grandpa a hard time for his corny jokes, but you know, deep down we love them because they are part of him.   Like, “Did you know Paul was a baker?—-He went to Philippi…”

He also is a good story teller. During the last time we were in the States, I tried to call Grandpa more often to hear about his life. I heard some stories and I took notes. When he was young, he joined some older children of the county superintendent and they grabbed a stray cat and a tube of lipstick. They put a red streak on the back of the cat and then let it go.   As it raced by an old woman, she started screaming, thinking it was bleeding.

When he was 11 years old he won a skeet shooting match.   When he was in the Pacific, in World War II, he loaded bombs. He loaded bombs on Tinian, where one day a special bomb team would come and load an important bomb that would change history. He stayed on for a year after the war ended and helped to drop loads of medicine attached to parachutes through the bomb bay doors of B-29s. Once a shipment got stuck and the door couldn’t shut. He asked someone to hold his knees so he could cut the strap.

He had promised his mother that he would go to church with her if he survived the war. When the war was over he went to revival service with her, but he wasn’t interested in going up front to the altar.   On New Year’s Eve (didn’t record the year), he went and got drunk and he got in a bar fight. He punched a sailor and the police were called. The police just drove by and didn’t arrest anyone.   Grandpa remembers going onto the cement bridge over the Allegheny River, and he decided that he didn’t want to live that way anymore—getting drunk and fighting. He prayed and decided to give his life to following the Lord.

Tragedy struck when his brother was killed by a drunk driver. The phone call he received at college wasn’t clear and he thought the message said his mother had died. He was surprised to see her when he got home, but then found that his brother, who had been an important part of his life, was dead. That was hard to bear. Grandpa also told me that the driver only spent six months in jail.

He told me how he met Pauline Hawkins from Decatur, Indiana, at Anderson College. His proposal was, “Do you suppose we could spend the rest of our lives together?”   They got married three weeks after his proposal instead of the year they considered.

That story brings me to the third thing I admire about Grandpa. He has shown dedication and commitment to the care of his family—especially grandma. I know that as parents, they didn’t do everything perfectly as they raised their family (who does?), and there are definitely some scars. However, I witnessed his love for his wife and how he did such an amazing job caring for her. One time they heard about a Huntington’s patient whose spouse divorced them and left them in a nursing home. This really upset them a lot, because they valued each other and their marriage. Grandpa had to give so much to care for her, but he took that seriously and always did his best. That has been a model and testimony to so many people.

Grandpa has always given to others. He has supported us on the field and most definitely gave us more than he could afford to give. We can’t take that sacrifice lightly. He also volunteered his time helping others whenever he could. He has been a model of how to reach out and give without expecting anything in return. He has volunteered and given of himself continually. What an example!

Finally, Grandpa taught me a game called “got-you- last”. This was an everlasting game of tag. Then we moved on to “tweaked-your-nose-last”. That will always be something I remember fondly and will keep saying to him (and doing to him) until I can’t anymore.

Grandpa, I love you. I got-you-last!

I have read articles about the need to get off of Facebook.  When I read those, I kind of shrugged my shoulders and continued on.  Then this last week, I did some serious thinking.  I think what possibly began my “thinking” was exhaustion from being over-saturated.  When my kids really squabble and fight, it makes me feel tired.  I get frustrated with them largely because hearing it makes me tired.  Honestly, Facebook has done that to me too.  It is a place to see the news.  It is a place to see what people are concerned about and care about.  What is amazing (I guess) is that I have friends and family on completely opposite sides of many issues.  And, my own feelings about things don’t match up with everyone.  I have just gotten exhausted over the “dialogue”–which I sometimes appreciate because it makes me think…but then sometimes it just gets to be too much.  That was the first thing that made me start to think.

The next thing that got me thinking was about the use of my time.  When I get bored in meetings I don’t understand, when I’m  sitting and waiting in the hospital for the doctor for three terrible hours, or when I’m waiting on my order, I just pop open Facebook and take a look.  I haven’t counted the hours I spend especially since it is often just small minutes throughout the day, but I know that it does eat up my time.  If there are no messages or notifications, it can still suck me in as I look at what is going on for everyone else.   Opening and checking an email goes much faster and doesn’t devour the precious time I have on this earth.

Facebook has also created some relationship rifts.  Now, perhaps these would have occurred even without Facebook.  But, they occurred swiftly and it is a place where you can easily be misunderstood.  It has been a place where relationships have been broken and then not mended again.

Standing against these concerns in a real way was how I love Facebook for being a tool–to connect with people all around the world and chat with those I love.  Not having that is really tough—but again, it is not the only way to be in touch and it is not necessarily the best.  I do love seeing the “news” about marriages, babies, new jobs, etc…but then again, I should really know that the best about those I live, work, and breathe with every day.

So, that is a little bit about my journey away from Facebook.  I’m actually loving it and having just logged on minimally for making contacts about selling things for our move.  I’m still thinking about how and if to come back to it now and then.  Like other things we can get addicted to, I don’t want it to control my life.  I’m thinking about how to use it well and in a healthy way.  But, I’m also thankful for it.

When I was little, I was extremely churched.  My family went to every possible service.  That is where Dad thought we should be.  We went Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday night.  We were at retreats, seminars, conferences and any other possible church event.  I guess you could say that we were “soaked” in church.  As I look back, I’m not sure what it exactly meant to me.  I can remember the meal afterwards and I know that I spent a lot of time looking out the window because everything was in a foreign language. Most of the time my mind was somewhere else. When we went to an English service we joined other expats at the Pentecostal church. I remember my mind puzzling over the words that fell out of the praying lips of those praying in tongues. Later I would wonder whether or not speaking in tongues is the only evidence of baptism in the Holy Spirit. But for me as a young person, church was just something we did. It was an obligation to fulfill, a duty.
Fast forward quite a few years later…. We are living in a foreign city and most of the church options are in another language. We work six days a week and we have one day we can spend time together as a family doing something different. Sometimes when we make that choice, my oldest son says, “We aren’t going to church? Shouldn’t we? I mean, I feel guilty if we don’t go.” When questioned further it is not about possibly disappointing others but more because he feels like it is a duty or requirement–yes, something God would require of us.
That has made me start to think. My family, when I was younger, attended every service. But, at the cold heart of the matter, we were breaking to pieces. We just wore church as a mask, hiding the true state of our hearts and relationships. It was definitely just going through motions defined by duty: tithing, sitting on the wooden pews, singing, bringing food for a potluck, helping to teach Sunday School. What were we really doing there anyway?
So, what is church all about? I have heard many talk about the fact that the “Church” does not have walls–it is the body of believers. We are the church–wherever we are and whoever we are with. I agree with this, for my faith is something not confined to one place. However, I think that this provides some with an “excuse” to bail when there is a church community they don’t want to put up with anymore. I know that pastors faithfully preach the Word each week and don’t know how to deal with the lack of commitment in the pew and in the offering plate. I can also understand the criticism of the church of the four walls that keeps trying to build larger buildings, provide more amenities/”lures”, and be more hip and relevant.
As I think about the importance of church though, I keep going back to that body of believers which has been a part of my journey. I think of amazing people from that Pentecostal church long ago who offered their strong grip when we were drowning and helped save my parent’s marriage. I think of my friend who is now struggling through each and every day in prison–and how his primary and faithful support has come from those who were in church with him long ago. I think of the deep loving encouragement and knowledge I have gained from sharing life with believers in various church “homes”. Those incredible people have loved me, prayed for me, and have supported my family. They are not my blood relatives, but they are my family and I love them dearly. They are truly “home”, no matter where our journey takes us.
As my wandering thoughts come to a close, I say, “Stay close and in the church”. Will God punish you if you aren’t there every week? I don’t think so…but I also know that my life has been saved, changed, and enriched because of the input of godly men and women in the church. I don’t want to miss that and I don’t want to miss having the opportunity to be used by God for someone else.

I love my husband to the moon. He has some incredible strengths and I have come to appreciate them very much. He also has some weaknesses, because after all, who does not? One of his weaknesses which I am learning to overcome is his struggle to give gifts. I have received some amazing gifts and surprises from him after 20 years together, but I have realized that he had a little help with those—and that is really okay. I understand that his love for me is not shown by what he does or does not get for me. Although he knows me better than anyone else, he is not wired for gift-giving and gets stumped and frustrated trying to choose something for me. It causes a lot of stress. Although some might argue that feeling some stress for the love of your spouse is okay, I can see how it often ends in disappointment for both of us. Gift-giving is one way to express love and I really appreciate it when and if it happens, but I am seeing that is definitely not all there is. I have let myself feel disappointed in the past when my birthday is just like another day of the week or there is nothing under the tree with my name on it, but I feel I am finally learning new things about our relationship and expressing love.

In America we treat the birthday person–it is time to do something nice for them. We surprise them or do something for them in celebration. In Indonesia the birthday person is the one who does the treating. That is their cultural practice. I gave that some thought this year as I was turning forty. I knew that what I really wanted to do was spend time with the people I love. I have some amazing friends. I realized that planning something myself would not look bad here, but in fact would be expected. So, I invited one group of ladies to lunch in the city I live in now and then I had a meal this weekend with friends I have known much longer. At dinner this weekend one friend said, “You sure have a diverse group of friends!” It was true…as I looked around the table I saw young children, senior citizens, foreigners, Indonesians, Muslims, Christians, singles, married couples, families. This was true at lunch too as I spent time with friends from the U.S., Japan, Hong Kong and places throughout Indonesia. I thought to myself that I guess that describes me–as a TCK, I’m a diverse person who loves people and who has had a rich and blessed life.

So, as I am dragged kicking and screaming into my 40s :), I must confess that I have received the best gift. I have given and have been given love from truly amazing people. Daily they bless my life because they are my friends and family. Those incredible relationships are the best gifts I have been given after the saving grace of my Lord. I am so very thankful.

It was January 16th, 1991. That evening, this speech came on the television in the living room of our house on 6th Street in Anderson.  I remember that my father broke down in tears.  I knew that Dad described himself as a pacifist, but I must admit that initially it stumped me.  So, we’re going to war….and the problem is?  I guess, as a high school student, I didn’t expend a lot of energy considering the actions and decisions of my government.  His tears made me stop and take notice.  Why?

I remember the thought that came to me which gave me a new perspective.  I thought to myself, what if my country was attacking the country in which I grew up?  How would I feel about that, knowing that my “second home” and the people I loved there were dying?  It gave my pause.  Why were the people of Iraq any different? 

Over the last few weeks, I have sensed an increasing despair growing in my heart.  I feel so burdened for those who are suffering.  It seems like the list keeps getting longer each and every day: the families and friends of MH-17 victims, the people of Gaza and Israel, the Yazidis, and the family and friends of Michael Brown.   In our over saturated technological and quite broken world, it can be easier for my heart to just shut it all out.  I can choose to close myself from the news, the comments, and the statuses.  I can shut the door and shut my ears.  That seems less painful. 

Although I feel that there is actually too much media noise, I can see why we need it.  I need to be aware and I need to care.  My heart bleeds as I imagine myself in their shoes—as I imagine myself living what they are living.  I have embraced, with a great deal of heartache, (as we all should), the humanity of these victims.  These are people—just like me.   They have faces, names, hopes and dreams.  They live, breathe, love, cry, rage… and I am heartbroken for them and for our world. 

My friend asked me to comment on the article found at this link:

10 Things Missionaries Won’t Tell You

I will try my best to do that, although I feel that I am struggling to organize my thoughts.
1) The Pedestal
I think it is a temptation, to put any person that we respect and admire on a pedestal. I think that this is true of pastors and missionaries alike. It is sometimes hard to remember that the “spiritual giants” we admire are people too and struggle with the same things we do. We get so used to this image we have of them, that it becomes really difficult when they fall or fail. We feel so disappointed because we expected better of them. We judge pastors or missionaries with a different ruler and expect them to be super religious and super spiritual. I think this really does a disservice to them and to ourselves. It encourages them to be prideful and all the more crushed when everyone sees their failings (which are bound to come to light).
I think this article was pointing at that because it was showing that missionaries can’t be “real” because people don’t want to hear that. Quite a few times people have told me “I admire you so much”, and I really don’t know why. My ministry to people is the same one God has called them to, just with a different geographical location. The biggest sacrifice God has called us to make is leaving family and friends. That is a loss that always hurts. Thankfully He fills those holes with people who become like family. I think it is important to recognize that pastors, leaders and missionaries are normal people. We should not be surprised when they fail, but we should tenderly and lovingly encourage their repentance.
2) Hiding
I think that in many ways missionaries are encouraged to keep up the “pedestal” image or location and not be real and transparent because they need to continue to receive people’s support. They need both financial support and encouragement, and if they admit their challenges very clearly, people might say, “What are you doing there?” Their board might even call them back. Also, when missionaries report, they feel like they need to share only the good stories. They need to keep things up-beat all the time and let people know what a good job they are doing and why they should still be supported. They aren’t encouraged to share their real struggles and admit who they are. That can be really detrimental for all parties I believe.
3) Fund-raising
I really liked reading some of the comments on the article. I have really disliked the process of fund-raising personally. Its never comfortable for me to ask people to give so that we can do this job. I wonder what I am depriving other people of and wonder if it is right. But my perspective about it has been challenged. At the school I worked at last year, I heard someone speak in chapel about the Great Commission. He said it was everyone’s job to be involved in “missions” and if God was not personally calling us overseas, then we have a duty to be involved in missions by supporting those who are called. I had not thought of it that way before. That was a personal challenge for me to always be involved in supporting those who go. I also thought a comment on this article was interesting—by someone who loves support raising because he gets to invite people along on the journey and invite them to invest the money they have (which is God’s) into something that makes a difference in the world. My hubby pointed out that it might not seem comfortable to many for the person who is raising funds to remind people that what they have is not their own :), but I do personally need reminded of that I know. Sometimes I get caught up in what I work hard to earn and forget that HE gave me the ability to earn it and I should share it wholeheartedly. I feel like I am getting better and better at sharing it though–recognizing that it is not really mine anyway and I’d rather help other people than buy things that don’t last. I still don’t know that I will like fund-raising anymore, but I liked thinking about it new ways.
Conclusion: So, I guess what I appreciated about this article is the need for transparency and being real in pastors, leaders and missionaries—but the need first for believers to support, encourage and love them regardless of their struggles. If the leaders are not sure that they are completely supported, then they will continue to feel like they can’t be their true selves.
That’s my 59cents worth 🙂